


Fire can make a conscience clean

by hippydeath



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Bisexual Male Character, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, M/M, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-08-22 10:08:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8282083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hippydeath/pseuds/hippydeath
Summary: In which Hux runs a bakery, makes the fatal mistake of employing Kylo Ren, and finds himself very much at odds with his father's old business associate, Snoke.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In my defense, this started as a picfor1000words fic, and spiralled out of control. I'm not a professional baker, but have worked in large supermarket bakeries. This is NOT a Great British Bake Off fic, although there is one out there, and it's awesome.
> 
> Hux is Brendan here, because this was started before Armitage-gate, and it doesn't quite work here.
> 
> Tags and any warnings will be updated as chapters progress. I have about 10,000 words written so far, and no real clue what I'm doing.
> 
> If you are interested or care, this fic is set in Hull, because I don't know a bloody thing about London and my home town isn't interesting enough for these kinds of shenanigans. I went to uni there, so there's plenty of horrible little in-jokes and slightly out of date local knowledge.

He doesn’t need to open a bakery. It’s not as though he needs the money, and the neighbourhood is already crawling with independent coffee shops and cafes, so the last thing it needs is another. But boredom led to a path he’d rather not tread down, and when Phasma finally decided that policing really wasn’t for her, they sat down and looked at their options.  
They joked about a bakery, then his father got wind of it and threw a colossal shit fit over it, which sealed the deal. A few weeks to put together a business plan, a small loan, mostly for the sake of it, and they found the shop front easily enough. Then they just had to find some staff.  
Phasma runs the front of house. It turns out she’s a whiz with an espresso machine, and people actually like her, which suits Hux just fine. He’s happier in the kitchen where he doesn’t have to listen to screeching chairs on the floor and small children running around, getting their sticky hands all over the glass of the display counter.

Thanisson is competent. That’s about as much as Hux can say about him. Phasma picks him seemingly at random from the pile of applications they get for front of house staff. He’s got some experience, a degree in higher mathematics and instantly butts heads with Ren when Ren walks in for an interview (Hux’s hiring practices are a little more in depth than Phasma’s).  
Ren’s references are dubious, his personality is appalling, but he’s got the qualifications, and after letting him loose in the kitchen for an afternoon, the skill. Some checking around gives Hux the impression of anger issues and possible substance abuse in his past, but honestly, it’s the reference from Snoke that has him most worried (there are reasons he and his father don’t speak unless they have to anymore, places in Hux’s own mind that he avoids, invitations that are thrown away without being opened).  
Probably against Hux’s better judgement, he gets the job, and apart from the constant bitching at and about Thanisson, it’s all good.  
At least for a while.

Hux comes in one morning, slightly later than he’d planned after a night of screaming arguments with his mother and father over the phone about their apparent decision to come and visit with no fucking warning, to find Ren holding their delivery man up against a wall by his shirt. Ren looks like he’s about to burst a blood vessel and the delivery man looks more irritated than terrified.  
“REN!” Hux snaps, striding over and making sure his boots strike the ground as hard as he can. He wants to be heard over the low rumble of the delivery van. “Put him down.”  
Both of the other men turn to look at him, the delivery man trying to free himself from Ren’s grasp, and Ren just letting go with one hand, still holding him in place.  
"Put him down and get that into the stockroom.” He snaps again, stopping a couple of feet away just in case Ren decides to lash out at him.  
“Half of it’s wrong.” Ren snarls, shoving the delivery guy against the wall again.  
The delivery guy, Hux thinks his name is Poe, starts to say something but Hux shakes his head sharply and the man apparently does have some sense as he shuts up.  
“That’s not his fault. Put him down, take the correct items in and I’ll deal with this mess.” Hux wants coffee and a cigarette and to throw Ren’s scrawny arse out onto the pavement, but he can’t. “NOW!”  
Ren finally acquiesces and drops Poe against the wall before starting to haul bags of sugar and flour into the kitchen.  
“Sorry man, we’ve got a new supplier and they keep screwing up our orders.” Poe drawls out an apology, rubbing his shoulder. “Nothing’s wrong, we’re just having to substitute in a couple of places.” He holds out the delivery note to Hux, who scowls at it.  
“We’re going to have to reject some of this,” Hux sighs, “we have requirements here that some of these substitutions won’t meet.”  
“Not a problem.” Poe looks over at Ren, who is sullenly still hauling stock inside. “You know I’m gonna have to report this?”  
Hux nods. “I don’t suppose there’s anything I can do to mitigate it?”  
“Sorry,” Poe shakes his head.  
Hux just sighs. This week is obviously going to be one of the longer ones of his life. “This is going to take a while, can I at least make you a coffee while you wait for us to sort this out?”  
“That wouldn’t go amiss.” Poe says with a grin, and follows when Hux leads him past Ren and out to the coffee machine.

They don’t talk about it. Actually, they don’t talk, full stop. Hux starts showing up earlier, to make sure he’s definitely the one to take the deliveries, and Ren just squirrels himself away in his corner of the kitchen, doing whatever it is that pastry and confectionery geniuses do.  
The delivery issues are sorted after a few weeks, and nothing appears to come of Poe’s complaint about Ren’s behaviour. Phasma finally hires someone to replace Thanisson on the front counter after he finds something “more in line with his skill set” and walks out with barely any notice, and things quieten down.

The lunchtime rush is finally over, and he’s sloped outside for a cigarette and a mug of what Phasma refers to as heresy coffee; over sweetened and too milky, but still just about coffee. It’s freezing cold outside, as befits March on the east coast, and he’s thinking he should have picked up his jacket before he came outside.  
He can hear a couple of muffled bangs from inside, but since Ren had been fiddling with some coconuts earlier, he figures it’s nothing to be worried about. Until Phasma bundles out, followed swiftly by Finn, who slams the door behind him.  
“Who the fuck is manning the till?” Hux snaps when he looks at the two of them, stubbing his cigarette out on the wall and going for the door.  
“Don’t.” Phasma stops him. “Ren’s having a fucking screaming fit at some old bloke out there.”  
“And the rest of the customers?” This is the last fucking thing they need, bad press about his staff screaming at people.  
Finn shakes his head, “All cleared out.”  
There’s a massive bang from inside and Hux shoves his mug into Phasma’s hands. “If you’re not going to do anything, I’m going to bloody have to.” And hauls the door open.  
The kitchen is empty, but he can hear shouting from the front area, Ren’s voice raised and sharp, and a lower male voice with a very slight accent.  
“... better than this place.”  
Hux’s hand freezes on the door handle; he knows that voice and has put it behind him, knew that Ren was another of the bastard’s old students but didn’t think, didn’t think.  
“OUT!” He hears Ren roar just as he turns the handle and opens the door. There’s a crash and he sees a chair slam into the floor to the side of an old man, who just turns and looks at Hux with a cold smile.  
“Ahh, Brendan.”  
Hux takes a deep breath in through his nose, walks through the wreckage of the several chairs that have been thrown around, past Ren, who is staring at Snoke, hands clenched into fists at his side, and then past Snoke to the door, which he opens with all the calm that he can muster.  
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”  
Snoke maintains the cold half smile as he walks up to Hux, apparently seeing him was all he really wanted. “It was good to see you again, although I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other in the next few months.” He reaches out to pat Hux’s arm, and it’s only because he doesn’t want either man to see him weak that he doesn’t flinch back. “Do send your father my regards, and really, I’d get better control of my staff if I were you.”  
Then he leaves, and Hux throws the door shut and bolts it, flipping the sign to closed and turning his ire on Ren as he lets out the breath he’d been holding.  
“What on earth was that all about?” he demands.  
Ren just stares at him for a second, fists still clenched, then turns away and starts picking up the chairs.  
“Ren.”  
Ren keeps ignoring him, looking over the chairs and tables to see what’s broken and what isn’t, and in the end, Hux grabs him by the shoulder and dodges the punch thrown at him.  
“You’re going to get a buyout offer soon.” Ren tells him, “Don’t take it.”  
Hux looks confused. “What?”  
Phasma and Finn stick their head round the door, looking over the front area. Phasma sighs and shakes her head, carrying a dustpan and brush through with her. “Nice going Ren.”  
“Enough.” Hux snaps, not wanting another fucking argument. “Phasma, make some coffee, Finn, get that glass cleared up, you,” he points to Ren, “sit and explain.”  
Phasma smiles and heads behind the counter, passing the cleaning equipment over to Finn. Ren looks like he wants to argue, but in the end he slumps in a chair as though the fight is finally going out of him. Hux checks his chair and sits down.  
“What’s going on?”  
“First Order coffee is after a branch here, but the town won’t give them permission, so they’re trying to get in through the back door, take over an existing place and turn it into a franchise.” He pulls his hair out of the hairnet and scratches his hands through it, mesmerising Hux for an embarrassing moment. “My uncle got one a few weeks ago, when he turned it down, his place got trashed. And my parents are having problems with suppliers.”  
Hux narrows his eyes at Ren. “Your uncle?” A cafe getting trashed rang some bells, but he couldn’t place the name or face, “and parents?”  
Phasma brings them coffee and joins them at the table, Finn warily approaching once the floor is cleared. Eventually they’re all sitting and waiting for Ren, who is now holding his mug so tightly Hux thinks he might crack it, to speak.  
“So?” Hux prompts.  
“Right, my uncle runs Rogue Grounds, and my dad owns the delivery company we use,” he looks more than a little sheepish to be admitting this.  
“Is that why they still deliver after you assaulted one of their drivers?” Phasma asks.  
Ren just shrugs. “I don’t really talk to them.”  
Family being the last thing Hux wants to think about right now, he routes the conversation back to buyouts and supplier issues.  
The basics of it are that First Order wants in on their lucrative little area of the city, but without permission to open a brand new store, they have to take someone over, and of course, this being the kind of place it is, everyone is fighting tooth and nail, so Snoke, because of course it’s fucking Snoke, is resorting to underhanded tactics.  
“You both trained with him though?” Phasma asks.  
“He paid for my apprenticeship costs and gave me a job,” Ren shrugs, slurping more of his coffee.  
“He and my father are old friends, father thought it would do me good, after,” Hux doesn’t elaborate. Phasma knows, the others don’t need to. “Chances are though he’ll be involved somewhere along the line. Probably the legal counsel for all of this.”  
“Marvellous.” Phasma deadpans. “Aren’t they due a visit soon?”  
Hux freezes, he’d mostly forgotten. “Next week.”  
“Well then, we need a plan.” Phasma puts her coffee down and pulls out the monstrosity she calls a phone, apparently looking up something. She’ll tell him if he needs to.  
“Rey said there’s an action group starting up,” Finn chimes in, raising his own phone off the table “they’re trying to organise a legal defense against this.”  
Phasma quirks an eyebrow at Hux.  
“No.” he says sharply. She just shrugs.  
“I… could go along?” Finn offers. “See what’s what?”  
Hux nods. Finn is excellent with people in a way that he will never be, and Phasma rarely bothers to be. Ren is scowling into his coffee again.  
“Right, well it looks like we’re closed for the day.” He looks around. “We’ll finish clearing up and get the prep for tomorrow done, and then,” he pauses, a better man would probably try and do something with his staff, but he’s not really a better man. “Then I’ll see you all tomorrow.”  
Ren takes the chance to bolt for the kitchen and Finn goes and starts clearing up the counter.  
“What do we do with the leftovers boss?” he asks, looking at the pastries and cakes still in the display.  
“Take what you want, better that than it goes to waste.” Hux replies from the table, where Phasma is still staring at him.  
“Are we going to talk about this?” she asks.  
Hux sighs and shakes his head. “What is there to talk about? Do you really want to sell out to that, that…” he can’t finish the sentence.  
“So we’re going to join this little rag tag group of indie cafes and boutique bakeries?” She asks.  
“We are one of them,” Hux reminds her. “I don’t know. Maybe not, but I won’t give in.”  
“And when your parents turn up next week?”  
He shrugs. “Fuck knows.” He hauls himself to his feet, bone weary. “I need to go and get the prep done for tomorrow.”  
“Talk to Ren.” She calls after him. “Those chairs are coming out of his wages.”  
Hux just nods wearily and retreats to the kitchen.

It’s mid morning and he’s got muffin batter on his forehead and flour all over his hands when his mobile rings in his pocket. He swears and dusts his hands off as well as he can on his apron and fishes it out, not looking at the screen before he answers is, which is a grievous mistake.  
“Your father’s business trip ended early, so we’ll be driving up tomorrow morning rather than overnight.” His mother tells him, no preamble. “The hotel doesn’t have a room for the extra night, so we’ll need to stay in your spare.”  
He grinds his teeth. “I have someone staying in there at the moment mother, you can’t, I explained this before.”  
“Brendan, I’m sure your friend can find a couch to sleep on for one night, we’re your family.” she reminds him, as though she or his father have actually been there for him in the last few years.  
“No,” he tells her quite firmly, but he knows he’s going to crack. Then the oven alarm goes off and he doesn’t have the hands free to open it, one of them still being covered in batter. “I’m sorry,” he says down the phone, then yells at Ren to unload the oven.  
“Really dear,” she starts.  
“No. I have a friend staying with me, you’re going to have to find somewhere else.” He tries to stay firm, “and I’m very sorry, but I have a batch of pastries just out that I need to see to.” He hangs up the phone as he hears her world weary sigh, and wonders why he didn’t go the extra step to get himself disowned all those years ago. It would have been so easy, and so much easier on him now.  
Ren is dithering with the tray, not sure where to put it, so he shoves his phone back in his pocket and grabs it from the other man, aiming it for one of the vaguely clear surfaces. They’re experimenting with fruit combinations and there seems to be peel and seeds and sauces all over the place.  
Ren raises an eyebrow, but they’re back to not talking a lot at the moment. Ren’s fit the week before, and the building tension as they wait for Snoke’s offer to come through is upsetting everyone, but the two of them are feeling it the worst.  
Hux carefully moves the pastries from the tray to a cooling wire and pulls the paper from the tray.   
“Boss,” Finn ducks into the kitchen, “there’s a meeting at two this afternoon, do you want me to go?”  
It takes Hux a minute to work out what he’s talking about, but his mind catches up and he nods. “If you don’t mind.”  
“Cool.” He pauses, “and Rey’s out front, wants to talk to Kylo.”  
Ren rolls his eyes, hearing his cousin’s name. “Send her round the back, I’m due my break.” he says, and pulls his apron  
Finn heads back to the shop front and Hux wonders when his business became a fucking soap opera.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all thought this was dead, didn't you? Sadly, it's not, and I've got a couple of chapters ready to go. 
> 
> This chapter contains explicit m/f sex. If this is something you do not wish to read, skip from "He's half expecting it when she swings her leg" to "Early morning starts are the worst", and in summary, Hux and Phasma have an on/off friends with benefits relationship, have known each other since university, and Phasma leave Hux with a fairly prominent hicky.

“There’re the keys, there’s tea and milk and cereal, I’ll see you for dinner tomorrow.” Hux passes the keys to his mother, who looks scornfully at them, and hefts his bag onto his shoulder.

“What happened to having someone in your guest room?” She asks, eyeing him dubiously.

He just shrugs, “Gone to stay with some other friends for the night, like you asked.”

“And where are you going?”

“To sleep in my office.” He snaps, he wants to leave. His father will be out of the garage soon, and he’s really not ready for that right now.

“Brendan, you’re being ridiculous.” his mother tells him, as though he doesn’t know that already. “Stay in your own home, we’ll have dinner and everything will be fine.”

“Thank you, but no.” Hux shakes his head. “I have accounting to go over, and there’s a perfectly good sofa in my office.” He steps round his mother and her suitcase into the front garden, looking at the open garage door, then at his own car. “I also have to be out the house at three in the morning for a delivery, so I’d rather do some work and get an early night, rather than having to play host.”

“For the love of…” his mother trails off, but then his father is out of the garage and Hux really just wants to bolt.

“Let the boy go,” his father says as he walks over. “Dinner tomorrow will be enough.”

Hux smiles, the fake smile he learnt at university and perfected working for Snoke. “I’ll see you tomorrow evening then, seven thirty?” he asks to confirm.

His mother nods. “Of course dear.”

Then Hux is going for his own car and throwing his bag in, pulling away from the house and heading somewhere. Anywhere but his own fucking home.

 

He ends up at Phasma’s, because he doesn’t actually have any other friends locally. She opens the door in workout gear and a sour look, raises an eyebrow and lets him in.

“You’re cooking.” She tells him, “I’m going to have a shower.”

Dinner ends up being pasta and vegetables, because Phasma has no meat in the house worth eating, but there’s cheese and wine in the sauce so really it’s not all bad (it’s pretty good, Hux knows his food, even his non-baked food). There’s plenty of wine to drink as well, although Hux is fairly sure he shouldn’t and tries to keep is to a reasonable level of weeknight drinking.  
The plates cleared away, and another bottle opened, Hux pulls out an envelope and hands it without a word to Phasma. She puts her glass down and raises an eyebrow at him, reading the first couple of pages and letting out a low whistle.

“That’s a lot of money Hux.” She points out, handing the envelope back to him. “You could pay off all your student loans, and whatever you owe your old man. And the rest of us would be set for a good long while, if you were fair.”

“You don’t think I know that?” Hux asks her, “You don’t think he knows that? That he doesn’t know, down to the last fucking penny how much I owe?” He sighs. “The settlement paid most of everything off, the rest I’m just just chipping away at.”

“So we’re fighting it?” She asks.

“I want to, but it’s your name on the business as well.” He points out, swallowing a mouthful of wine. “If you want to sell up,”

Her harsh bark of laughter cuts him off. “Fuck that Hux, I know what those two bastards did to you.” She wraps an arm around his shoulders. “You want to fight them, I’ve got your back.”

He laughs and raises his glass to her, “To probably losing everything we have, and letting a megacorp trample all over us.”

She clinks her glass and against his and joins the laughter. “It’s not going to be that bad,” she assures him. “We just have to make nice with all the other owners, and you have to actually do what you trained to do.”

He takes a mouthful of wine and shakes his head.

 

There’s more wine after that, and some leftover cranberry and orange tart from the shop which is messy and sticky and fucking amazing. They both agree that Ren’s a brilliant baker, but a fucking liability, and Hux refrains, carefully, from saying anything about the convoluted relationship with Snoke.

“Are you staying here?” Phasma asks sometime around half past ten, and Hux just looks at her, wine glass in hand.

“Well I’m not driving anywhere, and I’m not getting a taxi all the way to the shop.”

She rolls her eyes. “You could have warned me. I’m not in the mood for a sparrow’s fart wake up call when it’s not my turn to take the delivery.”

“I can sleep on the sofa.” he says, and he can’t help the grimace as he does so.

“Right. And then you’ll be even more useless tomorrow.” She shakes her head and stands up, “I’ll shove some sheets on the futon.”

He follows her upstairs and leans against the doorframe as she makes up the futon. He’s slept here before, he could have done it himself, but she’s pandering to him.

“Where are you taking your parents?” She asks, stuffing a duvet into a cover and shaking it out.

“The Lighthouse,” he replies, “the only place suitable I could get a bloody reservation.”

She laughs. “Your mother’ll love that.”

“Shouldn’t have decided to show up at fucking Easter then should she?” he snaps, scrubbing his hand over his face.

“Could be worse,” she reminds him, “it could be Florins.”

They both laugh at that, and Hux realises that for the first time in weeks, despite all the bullshit he’s put up with in the last twenty four hours, he’s actually relaxed. Although that might just be the wine talking.

“Stop it Hux,” Phasma says a little while later, staring at him while she’s putting pillows on the bed.

“What?” He asks, unaware that he was actually doing anything other than leaning against a doorframe and drinking wine.

She throws a pillow down, “You’ve got a look on your face, you’re thinking too hard.”

He rolls his eyes. “I think I’m allowed.”

She shrugs at that, sits on the bed and when he joins her, steals his wine.

“Hey!” He protests, but she doesn’t give it back until half the glass is gone.

“You want more, go and find the bottle, I just made a bed for you.” She takes another swig and he reluctantly does go in search of the bottle, and her glass.

When he gets back, she’s sprawled on the futon, legs hanging off the end and his empty glass dangling from her fingers. She’s too tall for the futon (so’s he), and this is not the image of composure that she normally gives out to the world (they studied together, they’ve seen each other puking in random bathrooms so very little shocks him).

“More wine?” He asks, holding the bottle out. It’s half empty and they really ought to stop now; dealing with a delivery, a full day of the shop and then his parents with a wine hangover is not what he really wants, but lapses in judgement are apparently his thing now.

She holds up her glass for a refill, which he dutifully pours, then he plonks himself down next to her.

He’s half expecting it when she swings her leg over his hips and looks down at him, wine glass still in hand. They’d been edging closer to each other for a while, and if he hadn’t had as much to drink as he has, he’d probably have made a move earlier. There’s a fizzing under his skin that needs something to release it. He carefully lowers his own glass to the floor by touch, and looks at her, waiting. She empties her glass and puts it down and he very much enjoys the way she presses her breasts closer to his face as she does so.

“You planning on staying up there?” He asks raising one hand to cup her breast and the other to her hip.

She shrugs, “Depends what you have in mind.”

He wishes he could flip her, but she’s taller than him and has more muscle than he could ever dream of, and he’s drunk, so he prods her over so she’s on her back, both of them trying not to laugh at how uncoordinated they are, and starts to push her leggings and knickers out the way without a lot of preamble.

“Yeah?” He asks, halfway down her torso, rubbing a hand across her stomach and raising an interested eyebrow as she lifts up to pull her shirt over her head, gets distracted by her breasts and loses a fight with her bra to get it off, while she’s trying to strip him out of his button down shirt.

“Fuck’s sake Hux,” she complains when she can’t reach far enough down to undo all the buttons.

He laughs at her and sits up, stripping the shirt and t-shirt off and throwing them off to one side, hopefully not hitting the wine bottle that’s somewhere on the floor. Then he leans forwards again, bracing his weight on one arm and cupping one breast with his other hand.

“Come on,” she complains, shoving at the top of his head after about thirty seconds of him not doing a lot.

He’d been half heartedly playing with one breast, but apparently that isn’t what he’s here for, so he sighs, and bites the underside of her breast. Just slightly. She yelps and swats at his head again, but she’s also pushing into his hand, he can feel her nipple pebble against his palm, and he repeats the action, moving slightly towards the centre of her chest, biting and occasionally sucking carefully at the skin until he reaches the other breast.

She’s shifting against him, and she’s got one hand in his hair, which she uses ruthlessly to haul him up into a sloppy kiss.

He can taste the wine on her lips, and the slight tartness of the cranberries they had earlier, and while she’s kissing him, her other hand slips his belt open, then the button of his jeans, and carefully, the zip, brushing against his slowly growing erection with the back of her hand.

He shivers and ruts against her slightly, the hand on her breast moving so he can tease the nipple while they carry on kissing. It’s nice; mellow and relaxed and strangely at a counter to everything else in his life.

She pulls back from the kiss to catch her breath and turns her attentions briefly to his neck, mouthing down from just below his ear to where neck just starts to curve to shoulder, and she bites, far harder than he had. But as she soothes it with her tongue, he moans and pushes against the hand that’s still motionless in his trousers, and feels her laugh against the crook of his neck.

He’s not sure if it’ll mark or not, but he’s too drunk to care at that moment, and more interested in getting her naked. He pushes fully away from her, and regrets it as he loses the easy pressure against his dick, but as he shuffles his way down, leaning over to tease her breasts ever so briefly, to mouth at her stomach while he pushes her leggings and underwear completely out the way, he lets himself rub against the duvet beneath him, He kicks his jeans off as she toes off her leggings, and then settles himself between her legs, pushing one up, over his shoulder, so he has some space to work with.

He knows from plenty of experience that she’s not one for huge amounts of foreplay, so he dives straight in, tongue flat against her cunt and licks one long stripe up to her clit, easing his tongue between her folds as he goes, does it again as he pulls her lips apart with his hands so he can get deeper. She seems to be enjoying it, so he keeps going, working her open with his tongue and occasionally edging a finger in, which she keeps pushing against, grumbling above his head that he’s too much of a fucking tease. He smiles against her briefly, and as he slides two fingers deep into her, he presses his tongue against her clit, rolling it so the pressure keeps moving. She keens and tightens around him for a moment, the leg over his shoulder pushing his face tighter in, and he keeps working her with fingers and tongue, and occasionally, when he’s feeling brave, with teeth.

She’s vocal, but not verbal, so he counts himself lucky for the forced swearing coming from above him, and she comes, tight round his fingers and wet against his face, curling over him and pressing him too close against her, he smacks at her arse to convince her to move, and after a shaky few seconds when her breathing starts to ease up, her leg moves away and he call pull back, licking his lips and wiping his fingers on her leg.

She pulls him with a hand gently in his hair, and he clumsily tries to shed his trousers and boxers as he goes, his cock flagging slightly at the lack of attention.

“What, um,” he’s bad at this. Always has been, even though they’ve done it so many times before, every time there’s been some kind of break in their thing, he goes back to being a tongue tied idiot. “Can I?”

She laughs and kisses him, licking his lips and his tongue as she reaches down to coax his erection back to life.

It’s only when she starts to pull him towards her cunt that he sobers up slightly and pauses her, “Um?” He wants to fuck her, but common sense apparently won’t leave him even after a bottle of wine.

“Brendan,” she almost nags. “I’m clean, you haven’t slept with anyone but me in over a year, and,” she grabs his hand and presses it against the impressive muscles of her upper arm, where he can feel a small lump just under the skin. “Please stop thinking about everything and enjoy yourself.”

“Sure?” He’s so close to that first push inside her, her hand still stroking in short little movements.

She leans up and kisses him again, “Yes,” said quite tersely against his lips and then her hand is out the way and he has nothing stopping him pressing against her and into her, and neither of them hold back the moan as he does so.

He stays where he is once he’s fully inside, a sweet few seconds of heat and pressure until Phasma is hooking her leg up high around his waist and forcing him to move.

She sets the pace, urging him on with her legs and her hands, digging grooves into his back and pulling at the hair at the nape his neck, Somewhere along the line he rests his head against her shoulder and she goes for his neck, the same spot that she’d worried at earlier. He groans and retaliates by getting his hand between them and working her clit, and when she comes, she bites down hard against his collarbone, and that is going to mark in the morning he thinks very vaguely, as everything whites out and he comes.

“Fuck.” He laughs against her neck, moving his hand and pulling out of her.

Phasma makes a non-committal noise and gropes around the edge of the futon for her t-shirt as he flops down beside her.

They lie there in companionable silence for a while, breathing slowing and sweat cooling on skin.

“Can I use the shower?” He asks eventually, hauling himself upright.

“Sure. I’m just gonna…” she sort of gestures at the futon, which he assumes means she’s staying there for the foreseeable future.

It’s an effort to get up; the room is cold and the bathroom even colder, but the shower clears his head a little, and he swills his mouth with water once he’s clean.

Phasma is snoring slightly on the futon when he gets back to the spare room, but he just shrugs and pulls his boxers back on before pulling the duvet over the both of them, and drifting off to sleep.

 

Early morning starts are the worst, he decides as he hauls himself from the futon and into his clothes. Phasma had gone back to her own bed at some point, leaving him with the damp spot, and thankfully, a glass of water which he necks. He gets dressed and swills his mouth out with more water in the bathroom; his toothbrush is still downstairs and he’s trying to minimise the amount of moving around he’s doing.

Bag slung over his shoulder, and hair tamed into something passable for a four in the morning delivery, he navigates through Phasma’s complicated door locks and down to his car, which by some miracle starts first time.

The roads are empty and he makes it to the shop in plenty of time, unlocking and starting the ovens up before putting the staff coffee machine on and downing another pint of water. He’s feeling just about human when he hears the delivery van pull up, and pours a second mug for Poe.

“Beebee!” Is his only warning when he opens the back door, before his legs are assaulted by a ball of orange and white fur. He keeps on his feet and stays still, trying not to spill the coffee.  
Poe scrambles out the van and lunges for the corgi who yaps happily and ducks behind Hux. “Beebee. Heel.” Poe snaps his fingers and Hux is impressed that the dog does come to heel.

“Really?” He asks as Poe hoists the animal back into the driver’s cab.

Poe looks unrepentant and takes his coffee. “She wouldn’t stay in the house this morning. It was easier than the neighbours yelling about animal abuse again.”

“Isn’t it against health and safety regulations, given you're transporting food?” Hux asks.

“She stays in the cab, and really, you’ve met Chewie, right?” He asks, referring to the third owner of 12 Parsec Deliveries, “That guy sheds more than she does.”

Hux is too hungover for this today, so he just drinks his coffee and waits for Poe to hand him the manifest. “Anything substituted?” He asks, checking the list.

“Nope,” Poe replies, leaving his mug on the windowsill and opening the back of the van. In the cab, Beebee yaps and bounces against the window, ignoring all attempts to shush her. “Han said that fondant you were after is going up in price again though, you might want to look at an alternative.”

Hux frowns, “I’ll talk to Ren, that’s his thing not mine.” He ticks things off from the list as Poe loads them onto a sack barrow, “If you can complete the order we placed though, we’ll work out what we’re doing once that stock runs out.”

“Sure.” Poe stops and looks at him, which is disconcerting, especially as it’s making Hux feel paranoid that his shirt is inside out or something equally ridiculous. “You have a,” Poe points a finger to a spot fairly low on his own neck.

“What?” Hux pokes the spot on his own neck, nothing there that he can feel.

“You have a hickey, Hux.” The bastard’s sniggering at him. “I didn’t think you did that sort of thing.”

Hux sighs and signs the delivery note with a little more force than necessary. “Thank you mister Dameron.” He says, handing the clipboard back.

“Hux, c’mon,” Poe tucks his pen behind his ear, “I was just letting you know so you could cover it or something.”

He can feel his skull pulsing, he definitely shouldn’t have finished that second bottle of wine last night.

“Oh,” Poe starts up again, “Finn was at one of the organisational meetings the other day, you guys in the firing line as well?”

“Yes,” Hux says rather snappishly, “We’re just as independent as the rest of the other places that have been approached.”

Poe shrugs, “Would’ve thought that with Ren here you’d be safe.”

“Well apparently not,” Hux replies, putting his weight behind the sack barrow and starting towards the door. “Phasma will be here tomorrow morning, don’t be late.”

 

He checks himself in the mirror once he’s left the delivery in the storeroom, and digs his toothbrush out of his bag, hoping that clean teeth might make him feel a little more awake. Poe sadly was right, there is a small mark near his collarbone. Low enough that his shirt will hide it, but embarrassing nonetheless.

The fresh delivery arrives without issue, and he carefully puts that in the chillers, pulling out the trays that were in there overnight and starting them baking. Then he texts Phasma with a request for concealer, and, in a thoroughly out of character move, McDonald's hash browns, then starts working on preparing fruit for the day’s pies. Her response is a winking face with its tongue sticking out, but he trusts she’ll do what he asks.

 

He doesn’t bother with the concealer during the day, just pulls his shirt collar up and lets it be. Poe, the traitor that he is, has obviously told his boyfriend about the hickey, as Finn tries on at least three occasions to get himself at an angle to see it. Thankfully Hux is tall enough that it’s not going to happen. Phasma laughs at him, completely unashamed about the slight hitch in her step, and hands him the concealer in front of other people.

Ren however, will not stop staring once he’s noticed it.

“How do you want to proceed when this stock runs out?” Hux asks him, talking about the fondant that is apparently now prohibitively expensive.

They’re standing in the storeroom, looking at the shelves, trying to get an inventory done.

“Hmm?” Ren hasn’t been listening apparently, mind off elsewhere, eyes darting quickly away from where he was staring at Hux, which is useful to note, possibly. “Did they say what the increase was?”

“Five percent markup from the last order.” Hux tells him, looking at the sheets in his hand.

“And we don’t want to find a new supplier, just for the fondant.” Ren muses. “We could try making our own?” He suggests, but he doesn’t sound convinced, and Hux definitely isn’t.

“What do you think of their alternatives?” He offers the paper to Ren, who scowls at it.

“A couple of them are passable. Maybe buy small batches and see how they go?” He marks a couple of them with question marks. “It’s a nuisance this happened now, if we were late summer it wouldn’t be so bad, but spring and summer are always busy.”

Hux nods, he hadn’t actually thought of that. Last summer they’d only just opened and were just making a name for themselves, but they have a loyal customer base now and orders are fairly steady.

“Could we get a couple of new sugar thermometers?” Ren asks, out of the blue. “The sweet selections did pretty well over christmas, I thought maybe,” he catches Hux’s eye and doesn’t finish the sentence.

“We can probably manage it, so long as you don’t break another mixer or throw more chairs around.” Hux reminds him.

He just shrugs, and it’s not a promise, Hux knows that much.

 

The lunch rush has wound down and Hux is starting to prepare dough to be laid out that evening.

“Your mother is outside.” Phasma sticks her head into the kitchen as Hux is mixing cookie dough.

He stops and stares at her. “What does she want?”

“A tall skinny latte and a creme brulee muffin.” She says, and he can’t tell if she’s winding him up or not. She looks like she’s bordering on homicide, which probably means she’s being honest, and that Finn has gone off to class.

He glances at the timer on one of the ovens. “Muffins will be twenty minutes. She gets one free coffee.”

“Really?”

He drops the dough back into the bowl and scrapes down the sides before starting to mix it again. It’s therapeutic. “I can’t tell her to leave, and if we don’t give her something, she’ll complain.”  
Phasma just shrugs.

“I’ll bring the muffins out when they’re done.” He tells her retreating back, and whacks the dough into the bowl harder than he really meant. It looks about done, so he covers it and puts in in the chiller ready for tomorrow, then washes his hands and pours himself some coffee.

Ren’s icing a cake near the back of the kitchen away from the ovens, and Hux pulls up a chair to sit and watch him while he drinks. They’re both covered in flour and sugar, it showing up thanks to the fact that they both insist on wearing black all the time. Ren’s hair is pulled back and tucked into a hairnet, but a few wisps always manage to float free into his face, not that they seem to distract him.

When he’s not concentrating on something, Ren’s like a caged animal; restless and seemingly dangerous, but when he’s working, be it mixing or icing or laying out terrifyingly thin sheets of pastry for their latest experiment, his focus is complete and the work he can do is stunning. Ragged, but that seems to be the style that he’s claimed for his own, and so much more controlled in his movements than when he’s just being.

He finishes the blue curve that he was fitting round the base of a wedding cake, and realises that he’s being watched, looks over to Hux and Hux notes the exact second that Ren’s eyes track down to that mark on his neck and then back up.

“What?” Hux asks, exasperated by this point.

“Nothing.” Ren replies, wiping his hands on his apron.

“It’s obviously something because you won’t stop staring.” Hux says after a mouthful of coffee.

Ren looks at it quickly again. “Just doesn’t strike me as a very you think to do.”

“I’m not a monk, Ren.”

“Didn’t realise you were seeing anyone.” He says, picking up the next piece of slightly darker blue fondant.

“I’m not, but is it any of your business if I am?” Hux snaps.

Tapping water off his fingers, Ren starts to lay the piece onto the cake. “You might not be so uptight if you were.” He presses it down carefully, smoothing it so that it blends with the paler piece.  
Hux glares, not that Ren notices, “Maybe you should take your own advice then,” he says, slightly mesmerised by the way Ren’s fingers mould the sugar.

Ren freezes, infinitesimally, and Hux wonders if they’re about to be treated to another of his rages, but he flexes his fingers and carries on his work, a little stiffer in the way that he’s moving, but not breaking the flow at all.

Hux finishes his coffee and goes to check the ovens, wondering what the hell Ren’s problem is today.

When the alarm goes for the muffins, he’s waiting for them, and pulls the tray smoothly out, checking a couple to ensure that they are cooked through before transferring them to the cooling racks. The sauce is ready to go on them, they just need to cool, and Hux finds himself fiddling with things, patience apparently now non-existent.

 

As he leaves the safety of the kitchen, he can tell the instant his mother catches sight of him. He’s carrying a tray of muffins, and has shed the hairnet and slightly grimy apron for the sake of appearances. Once the muffins are secure behind the counter and Phasma has given him a mug of coffee and two plates; one for a slice of quiche for him, and one of the fresh muffins for his mother, he makes his way to where his mother is sat, prim and neat in the window seat of the shop.

“Brendan,” she stands up to embrace him, although the tray rather gets in the way until they navigate round it.

He returns the embrace stiffly, kissing her cheek. “Mother, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

When she’s settled and curling delicate hands around her cup, she smiles in that way he knows all too well.

“Your father and I have found a better restaurant for this evening.” She’s blunt as ever and his cup clips against its saucer as he puts it down rather harsher than he meant.

“What was wrong with the Lighthouse?” he asks, “What has father done?”

“He thought it would be nicer if we could have a little privacy. He has a business proposition he wishes to put to you.” She pulls a piece of muffin off, licking her fingers.

“Really?” He’s skeptical.

“Don’t sound so skeptical Brendan, he’s trying to find you something better than this little coffee shop.”

He laughs bitterly. “And that wouldn’t have anything to do with Snoke would it?”

She drinks her coffee and pulls another piece of muffin off, avoiding answering the question, which is enough for him.

“I’ve already declined it.” He tells her.

“Brendan…” she warns him.

“No. I’m not doing this here, and I’m not having him send you as his messenger.” He drinks the last of his coffee. “If you would be so kind as to pick me up from here this evening, since I assume wherever father has chosen will not be within walking distance.” He stands and picks up the quiche and his now empty cup, walking away.

“Brendan,” she calls after him. “Please wear something other than those filthy jeans, and do something about the mark on your neck.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Everything is set out for tomorrow morning, you just need to start the ovens up and pull the trays out that are marked with red labels. I’ll do the fruit prep when I get in, and Poe will be here at four. He knows it will be you.” Hux is trying to cover up the mark on his neck as he talks to Phasma. She’s leaning against the table in his office, watching him with a wry look on her face.

“I know how to open up Brendan,” she takes the make up from his hands and pulls his collar down. “You never get any better at this do you?”

“Well it’s not as though I have to do it all that often.” He snaps, a little harsher than he meant.

“Might do you good if you did.” She clips the concealer shut and pats him on the shoulder. “You need to enjoy life.”

“When I’m not run ragged, I’ll think about it.” He sighs, smoothing his shirt down. “Presentable?”

“Always.” She smiles.

He picks up his bag, shoves his phone and wallet in his pocket and grabs his car keys. “I’m not popular with the Lighthouse, what with the late cancellation, and wherever it is that they’ve got a booking is probably so far out of my price range, and I’m stuck with them as a lift.”

Phasma hugs him, wrinkling his shirt up. “Brendan, you don’t have to do this, you know that?”

“I know, and I do.” He leans in to her. “I need to know whatever it is that my father is cooking up with Snoke.”

“Just, you know where I am if you need me to come and rescue you.” She offers, the same offer that she’s made every time he’s had to deal with his parents over the years.

“I know. The text is primed.”

They both laugh and head downstairs. Ren is unstacking the last of the chairs back round tables after mopping the floor, and the place smells fresh and clean, just a slight undertone of baking to the place.

He looks up when Hux and Phasma come through the shop area. “All done to your satisfaction?” He asks, the weird tension from earlier in the afternoon gone again. He’s been unusually helpful since he broke the chairs, not that Hux is really complaining.

“Looks good. Let Phasma know if there’s anything extra you need getting out in the morning, she’ll be opening up.” Hux tells him, craning his neck to see out the window. He can see his father’s car outside already. “I need to go.”

“Remember I’m on the other end of the phone.” Phasma calls after him as he unlatches the door and waves to them.

“Date?” Ren asks her, locking the door back up.

“Fuck no. Worse.” She checks the coffee machines are all switched off, and checks the taps. “Parental visit dinner at some fancy place in the centre.”

Ren lets out a small “oh” and Phasma wonders at the look on his face.

“You doing anything this evening?” She asks.

“What? No. I was gonna go read or something.” Ren scratches his head. “You?”

“Wondered if you fancied a drink?”

She wasn’t expecting the rabbit in the headlights look he gave her, “I’m, um,” he stammers, looking around a little awkwardly.

“A drink Ren. You don’t exactly socialise.”

“Yeah, sorry. I’m not so good with people. That sounds good though.” He hovers in the doorway, waiting for her.

“I gathered that. Get your stuff, I need to set the alarms.”

He heads out the back to the lockers they have, grabbing his stuff and then going out into the alley. It’s chilly, and he shoves his hands into his pockets while he waits for Phasma to lock up.

“So where’re we going?” he asks as they head back round to the main road.

“Gardners?” She suggests.

It’s a student pub really, but it’s cheap and not too ugly inside, so he shrugs and nods. “Sure.”

They walk in silence, dodgy the odd person and keeping easy pace with each other. The pub is only round the corner, and once they’re inside, the heat hits them.

“I’ll find a table?” Ren suggests.

“Sure, what do you want?”

“Just a coke thanks.” He says, looking round to see if there was a table.

Phasma heads for the bar, and Ren finds a table in a corner, his height giving him an advantage to see over people’s heads, and apparently no one else had noticed it. He elbows his way to the table and dumps his bag in one of the seats. A couple of people look at him askance, but no one questions him being there or tries to claim the table as their own.

While he’s waiting, he pulls out his phone and checks his messages, checks facebook and ignores the text from Rey; she keeps trying to drag him back into the martial arts scene, and he’s not confident that he’s safe around people. She also keeps trying to set him up with one of the guys on her course, which is just embarrassing.

“Sorry, I think there might be a football game on in a bit, the bar’s rammed.” Phasma apologises as she puts a pint glass in front of him, “I hope you don’t mind but I am drinking.” She adds, tipping the pint glass that obviously has been in it very slightly towards him.

He shakes his head. “No, I’m just not in the mood.”

“So,” Phasma starts, after they’ve drunk for a couple of minutes in silence. “What is your story?”

He shrugs, he’d had a feeling this was what this was about. “Good kid gone bad, gone worse, trying to make it right.” He replies flippantly. “I got into some shit when I was in my teens, getting out of it made things worse, I went away for a while and now I’m here, trying to prove that I do know how to be an actual human being.” That’s what he tells himself in the mirror every morning, at least.

She looks at him, “Away, as in prison, or away as in, not in the country?”

“Just, off the grid.” He tries to explain without actually saying more than he wants. “It’s really not something I like talking about. But it wasn’t prison. That would have been too easy.”

She laughs at that. “I don’t think anyone has ever called prison easy.”

“The people involved didn’t want to deal with things officially. My parents found somewhere for me to go for a while, keep me away from everyone involved.” He paints patterns in the condensation of his glass and doesn’t look at her. “You were in the police, weren’t you?”

She nods. “Got sick of it all. And I busted my shoulder up pretty badly.” She looks down at her own glass. “I’m not going to go and ask old friends if they know anything about you, if that’s what you’re worried about. Finale seems to be fresh starts for everyone.”

He nods. “So what about you and Hux? How’d an ex copper and a forensic accountant start a fancy pastry shop?”

“We went to uni together, he’s always baked. Exam weeks you couldn’t move in the house for muffins and stuff.” She snorts, “I probably shouldn’t be telling you half of this, so nothing gets back to him, alright?” She asks, and he nods in response. “His dad and Snoke are business partners or something, Hux went to work for Snoke straight out of uni, was doing really well, and then there was some kind of trouble. He got paid off to take the blame for it, even though he was the one who uncovered it really. He lost all his accreditations and basically can’t work in the industry anymore.” She takes a drink. “It fucked him up pretty badly, all he’d worked for, all he’d ever wanted to do all down the drain. Once he’d sorted himself out, he used the money to put himself through some culinary school, I think mostly because he was bored, and then we were joking about it, and a year and a half later, here we are.”

“Really?” Ren asks, a little incredulous.

“Really. It’s more complicated than that, but that’s his to tell I guess.” She moves and something crinkles, “Oh,” she pulls a packet of peanuts out of her pocket. “Sorry, I forgot about these, you want some?” She asks as she pulls the packet open.

“Thanks” Ren takes a few, popping one in his mouth. “What about the two of you?”

“The two of us?” she repeats, “Oh? Are we together?”

He nods.

“Friends with benefits.” She says, and smiles a little too gleefully when Ren almost chokes on the mouthful of coke he’d just taken. “What? He’s too fucking uptight for dating, and I’m not really in the relationship market.” She shrugs. “Why?”

“Just, I don’t know.” He avoids looking at her.

She doesn’t push the subject, although the very slight blush on his cheeks is rather telling.

“So how long have you lived in Hull?” he asks eventually.

“Moved up here for university, went and worked in Nottingham for a while, spent a bit of time abroad, came back here about three years ago.” She drains her drink. “What about you?”

“Born up here, moved away for uni, moved around a lot, came back about six months ago.” He replies.

“Not got the accent though?”

He shakes his head. “You spoken to any of my family?”

“Han, a couple of times, Rey and Luke, if I go into Grounds for anything.” She thinks. “Your uncle’s American isn’t he? Never been able to place Han’s accent though.”

“Yeah, Luke grew up over there, Han did as well, but he’s travelled so much I think it depends what mood he’s in.” He drains his own glass. “Mum is proper received pronunciation though. No dropping your letters with her. You want a refill?” He holds out his hand for her glass.

“Yeah, Green King, just a half though, I ought to stop in case Hux texts.”

Ren nods and takes her glass back to the bar with him. She checks her phone while he’s gone; nothing from Hux, but it’s still early, they’re probably making awkward niceties while his mother decides on the wine or something.

“So is this usually how his family meals go?” Ren asks, putting her drink in front of her and sliding back into his seat.

She nods. “Mostly. They see each other a couple of times a year, there’s usually an argument, and then they don’t speak for months until his mother decides enough time has passed and they should all be friends again.”

Ren nods. “Sounds shockingly familiar.”

 

“This is nice,” Hux’s mother says, smiling at the three men at the table. They all have wine and water in front of them, and the appropriate cutlery has been set before them for their starters.

The car ride into the centre had been awkward, Hux’s father not knowing where he needed to go to park, and refusing to listen to Hux’s suggestions.

When they’d finally arrived at the restaurant, Snoke had already been waiting for them, and Hux had done his best not to recoil when the older man shook his hand, but he was fairly sure he hadn’t been successful.

“I was under the impression that this was going to be a family dinner.” Hux had said, ignoring Snoke as best as he could.

“Albert is family,” his mother insists, at the same time that his father started to speak.

“Yes, but this was more pressing than that.” His father takes a sip of his wine, looking over the tops of his glasses at Hux. “You’re wasting your time and your talent Brendan, take the offer on the shop and go back to doing something you’re actually good at.”

Hux takes a deep breath. “And here was me thinking that maybe we could get through to the main course before this started.” Lacing his fingers together to stop himself from clenching his fists. “I am good at running the shop. And unless you’d forgotten the deal that you negotiated, my name is filth in the entire industry. I couldn’t get an entry level job if I was paying them to take me.”

“I’m sure that could all be swept under the table,” Snoke interjects. “After all, it would be a massive waste of all that time and money you put into your degrees. And in amongst all the other little coffee shops and bakeries, do you really think that you’re going to last another year? You’re just one of many, and sooner or later, one of them will take my offer, and then there’ll be popular, cheap coffee, so why would people want to pay your prices?”

“I don’t know, maybe because they can trust that we’ve locally sourced our ingredient? Because we don’t drive the rents up along Newland Avenue, because we take custom orders for their birthdays and anniversaries, or maybe because we’re actually a good coffee shop and people like our product.” He snaps, losing the battle against clenching his fists.

“Brendan,” his mother puts her hand on his arm, “don’t make a scene.”

Both his parents glare at him and he feels all of about twelve again.

“Fine.” He makes to stand up and leave, but his mother’s hand holds him back.

“No more talk of business until the meal is over. And you will stay and eat.” She says very firmly.

His father and Snoke nod, and there’s nothing really that he can do but go along with her demands.

It’s awkward, like the worst of the meals when he’d just lost his job and his home and was forced back with his parents. They talk around him to Snoke, talking about people he used to know, people he used to work with. There’s talk of a deal that he had been doing the ground work for in his final days there, how well it’s going, and he knows it’s all aimed at dragging him down as far as they can.

He excuses himself after the main and hides in the toilets for ten minutes, keeps looking at him phone knowing that if he rang, Phasma would find a reason for him to have to leave, would come and get him herself, but he talks himself out of it. He’s an adult, he’s a small business owner, and whatever it is that they want to talk about, if he flees now, he’s only delaying the inevitable.

His mother looks at him askance when he comes back out, but he shakes his head. “I just needed some air.” He assures her.

“Do you want dessert, or are you going to turn your nose up at anything that hasn’t come from your little cafe?” His father asks, always with the goading comments.

“Actually I’d quite like to try their torte,” Hux replies without batting an eyelid. “It’s always nice to see what the competition are doing.”

His father laughs at that, and ugly kind of snort. “You really think this is competition?”

Hux nods. “They do take away desserts, it’s one of their specialties.” He smiles at the waiter who comes round to take their order; a rather attractive man with dark hair and dark, deep set eyes.

It’s intentional, and when his father catches the look, he turns away, suddenly more interested in the menu than what his son is doing.

“So shall we get this over and done with?” Hux asks once their orders have been taken.

His mother purses her lips, “Brendan,” she warns, but he just shakes his head.

“No, let’s get it all sorted, so I can eat my dessert without this ball of lead in my stomach.” He looks Snoke straight in the eye. “You can’t have my business. You can’t buy it, you can’t threaten me to hand it over, and you can’t steal my staff.” He takes a mouthful of wine to ease the dryness in his throat. “You have nothing on me, and I will do everything I can to help the other businesses on the street keep you at bay.”

Snoke just nods. “It’s a shame, Brendan. I was hoping to take you on board as an area manager. You’ve obviously developed a head for this sort of business, you’d be exactly the kind of person I was looking for.” He smiles, “Of course, I’m sure someone like Kylo would be more than happy to take that role on once I’ve found someone willing to sell. He might not have your aptitude for business, but he has a certain way of managing people.”

Hux did everything he could to keep his breathing even. He’d known about the link between the two of them, but Kylo had been adamant that they were over and done with.

Snoke took a drink of water. “He’s already expressed an interest, you didn’t really think he was going to be willing to play second fiddle to you forever did you?”

“He’s an excellent baker, but you’d be signing your business’s own death warrant if you took him on as a manager. He has no people skills to speak of, and can barely keep his own account balanced.” Hux tries to stay calm, but he is honestly worried now. He and Kylo don’t have any kind of relationship; they work in the same building, they talk about work when they have to, but they basically work around each other. He realises that if what Snoke is saying is true, he’s going to have to try and cultivate Kylo as more of a member of the team.

“I’m sure once he’s under my tutelage again, he’ll learn the skills you seem to think he’s lacking.” Snoke assures him. “But I’ll give you a little while to change your mind. You never know, the summer months can be rough without the nasty caffeine addicted students all over the place. Little places like yours don’t tend to survive that long without their main patronage.”

Hux is about to snap back that most of their regulars are locals, but dessert arrives, and his mother gives him another of those looks that says if he tries anything, there’ll be trouble.

He leaves soon after, the taste of the fruit torte soured by the conversation, and walks home. It’s only once he’s there he realises that his car is at the shop, and he’s going to have to get the bus into work in the morning.

At least his parents are in their hotel now.

**Author's Note:**

> Come and hurl abuse at me on [tumblr](http://anonymousblueberry.tumblr.com)!


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